me and the devil, walking side by side Who: Ryland Lamont and Rodeo Hawkins Where: World Liquor & Tobacco, 805 E 6th Street What: Just a couple o' hicks conducting business. When: Noon, June 19.
Rodeo will never say that being alive during the end times doesn't have its perks.
Sure, there might be infectious geeks swarming in the streets and gas clouds that can strip the skin straight off your face. There might be shady government entities looming overhead and washed-out rats teeming below. The cops might be hunting him, the stars might be burning out one by one. The world might be unraveling piece by piece, shuffling off the parasite that is human life once and for all.
But honestly, who the fuck cares? This liquor store has an entire wall of Jack Daniels Holiday Select, and ain't nobody gonna try chargin' him $60 a bottle for it either. His eyes scan along the artfully stacked pyramid of squat amber-filled bottles. This display of whiskey is like a thousand stained glass church window angel cherub cloud babies smiling down on him benevolently. Rodeo can't even bring it upon himself to touch it yet, so he stands in front of the display and lights a cigarette instead. He takes a couple of drags and then finally plucks the bottle off the top, robbing the whiskey pyramid of its pinnacle. He works out the stopper and tosses it aside, taking a swig and wandering back towards the front of the store. He comes to a stop in front of a rack full of vape liquids. He squints at some of the titles, a frown pulling at his mouth. He's still there frowning when he hears the door open, and he only spares a quick glance to make sure it's the man he's expecting before he brings his gaze back to the display.
"What the fuck is this bullshit? People actually smoked this shit? Smokin' is supposed to taste like death set the toaster on fire, not like some kinda fuckin' Hazelnut Creampie Coconut Clusterfuck Celery Fantasia," Rodeo complains around the cigarette in his mouth.